


Sharp Edges

by knowtheway



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowtheway/pseuds/knowtheway
Summary: “Dr. Cee proposed!”It was like a physical jolt – as if someone had grabbed her about the shoulders and shaken her violently.“… Marriage! To me!” her sister continues, with all the cheer and enthusiasm she likely expects in return from her.
Relationships: Child Abuse - Relationship, Dr. Cerberus/Hilda Spellman, Faustus Blackwood/Zelda Spellman (mentioned), Past Emotional Abuse - Relationship, Zelda is terrified of her family leaving her
Comments: 28
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This scene really got to me in part 3 and I just needed to get the angst out, nah I’m sayin’?

The tumbler of aged single malt slips from her grip and clumsily thumps back down onto the counter. She’d gotten half a pour in, if that, before her sister delivered the words that would burst her entire world into flames with the expectation she be happy about it, no less. But if it hadn’t made her blood run ice-cold upon impact instead…

“Dr. Cee proposed!”

It was like a physical jolt – as if someone had grabbed her about the shoulders and shaken her violently.

“… Marriage! To me!” her sister continues, with all the cheer and enthusiasm she likely expects in return from her.

“Did he?” she says casually, hearing the high-pitched “mhm” from Hilda – such a sweet affirmation for such sobering news.

How could she possibly be pleased? Never mind that Hilda had known that dreadfully campy simpleton for less than a year, Hilda was all she had left now. She was her partner. Surely, she knew that. And after she’d sacrificed so much for her family and fought so hard to keep them safe and in one place… they were all leaving her. Ambrose, she could understand. He’d been locked away for so many decades, it was only a matter of time before the wonders of the world beyond the Spellman kitchen would call to him.

And Sabrina. Well… she thought she’d had at least a few more years left with her girl, before learning of her ascent to hellish royalty an entire realm away from her (as far away as she possibly could, Satan save her from the dramatics of her teenage niece). Even if Sabrina somehow managed to abdicate the throne, it would be a mere two years, at most, before she’d set off into the world on her own. Perhaps more if she wanted to continue her studies at the Academy as opposed to one of those undesirable mortal universities, but her witch adulthood had already arrived and time was fleeting and she’d already lost so many of her loved ones... lost Edward which Hilda had seen was so painful, so certainly Hilda would know she couldn’t do any more alone...

“And you accepted, I take it?” she asks, swallowing the tears that threaten to surface. She knows better than to hope Hilda will turn the tables and say, “ _No, sister. I turned him down because helping you run the Academy is far more important and you mean more to me than any silly sex demon ever could_ ,” but it doesn’t stop her holding her breath for the answer.

Hilda fumbles through a mirthful laugh, clearly relieved, “Well, we haven’t set a date yet, and... “

Zelda’s eyes close tight and her lip quivers. Oh, it’s real. Her sister’s happiness at leaving her is so very real and so is the pain of losing her.

“ … are you mad at me?” she hears her ask cautiously and Zelda can only take a deep breath.

Is she  _mad_ ?

No, _of course not_. Why would she be  mad ? It’s not as if this is taking her back to a few months ago when she was planning her own wedding to Faustus and reveling in the glory she was surely securing for her family – because _everything_ she ever did was for  _them_ – only to have it go drastically wrong and nearly have them all killed. Not as if she’d resigned herself to the thought of a loveless, tumultuous-at-best marriage for the sake of bringing honor and power to the Spellman name, as her father had always commanded she do. Not as if, after escaping and returning to her family, she dusted herself off and carried on so she could be strong for them. Not as if they never thanked her for any of it, ever. And not as if her sister – knowing all of this and more about her horrible marriage to Faustus – had deduced her down to a loveless, spinster, hag for some poorly written novel at her expense the very next chance she got.

But yes, of course, she  has to be happy for Hilda – who will marry for love and affection and everything Zelda never got nor likely, deserved. If she couldn’t even keep a husband for a month, she truly must be unlovable and that makes Hilda right. It, therefore, made sense she was leaving her horrid big sister just like everyone else – her parents, Edward, Ambrose, Sabrina, Faustus… everyone always left.

She sniffs, steeling her face as she turns around and flashes a saccharine sweet smile, “Mad? No sister, I’m not mad.”

Hilda smiles wide, followed by a relieved sigh. And while she knows she will regret it later – regret hurting her sister because she always does – her own pain is far too great that it’s nearly consuming her and she has to let some out.

“I’m not mad that both you and Sabrina are deserting me, deserting this family,” she watches Hilda’s face slowly drop, “deserting our coven in our greatest hour of need.”

She feels the tears resurface and so looks up with a twisted huff, flicking her cigarette. “I am sadly… unsurprised. And resigned.”

Hilda looks resigned, too, she thinks as she stalks away. Resigned in her icy hatred of Zelda and her need to get away from her. She always knew this day would come, and it’s not that she’s incapable of being on her own – she’s more than competent, but there’s just something to be said for having those you care for most itch for the first opportunity to abandon you.  


As she heads into her chambers to prepare her dress for the Hare Moon, she can’t help catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror of her vanity and she thinks how hateful the sight of her face must be to them. That she could give them every inch of her, drain her blood dry for them, and it would not matter.

_Loveless._

_Spinster._

_Hag._

Spelling her door shut with a loud slam, she throws the nearest hard object – a rather ornate jewelry box – into the mirror with a scream and slumps to the floor against her bed as it smashes into pieces all over the floor.

She’ll clean that up soon, and fix herself to perfection, emerging as the regal emotionless bitch they all seem to think she is. She’ll be cold and meticulous, doling out instructions with hollow certainty, and she’ll offer praise in the plainest way possible. 

And when they gather for breakfast tomorrow morning, she’ll slowly thaw, give in to their warm prodding and mischievous grins, and all will continue as it always has. She’ll smile at Hilda’s wedding and pretend every word of her vows doesn’t sting like a dagger to her heart. Will kiss Sabrina and Ambrose goodbye with a smile as they head off in exploration for themselves. Without her. Because she loves them, has poured every piece of herself into each of them, and even though they can’t or won’t see it, her love for them is all she has. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She really shouldn’t be surprised that Zelda wasn’t happy. She never was, not where anything of importance to Hilda was concerned. Satan... Lilith… whoever forbid her sister ever show her a fraction of the support she did her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone suggested a chapter from Hilda’s perspective, which I’ve done, and it was... hella painful, lads. Full warning, I had a hard time finishing this.
> 
> Updated the tags, as well, so please take heed!

She really shouldn’t be surprised that Zelda wasn’t happy. She never was, not where anything of importance to Hilda was concerned. Satan... Lilith… whoever forbid her sister ever show her a fraction of the support she did her.

“Bloody knew it,” she mutters, beating the coat of flour from her apron before letting her aggravation take hold and tensely tugging the knot open from her back to bunch it in her hands. She clenches her jaw and paces in small circles at the counter, wringing her fists in the fabric, and then glares out the window into the garden.

She has always loved working in the earth – helping things to grow, nurturing life into a fruitful purpose, and watching the seeds of her hard work and patience thrive. It gives her peace – which seems to come in increasingly rare supply lately – and looking at it makes her sigh. She sees that her summer squash are beginning to bloom and that would be a lovely surprise – she has so many delectable recipes for gourds, she always gets so many compliments – except that in her attempt to calm herself down, something else from the garden has caught her eye. Not far from the lattice she installed a few years ago is the pile of fresh, fertile soil she has seen herself reborn from so many times.

She stopped counting decades ago, but if she had to guess – it must be in the hundreds the number of visits she’s had at Zelda’s hand. The first time had been an “accident” after Hilda borrowed her ornate, silver hairbrush without asking and then snapped the handle in the doorframe, trying to block Zelda from chasing her once she discovered it was in her possession. Hilda remembers very little after that, save for Zelda pushing her so hard that she stumbled over the opened window of their bedroom and then the gentle voice of Edward greeting her as she pulled her adolescent self from the dirt. She hadn’t meant to break it… she had just admired it so… much like her sister. Zelda always had that beautifully golden red hair that called the entire room’s attention when she entered, always – even when she was a child – looked more pristine and put together than most adults, and people looked at her with a respect and fascination that no one ever did of Hilda. She envied that. Was amazed by it.

Everything Hilda struggled with seemed to come so easily to her sister. Friends, beauty, veneration… she was fine living without those things from others, but oh how she craved even just a piece of it from Zelda. Because the truth is - she’s always been fascinated with her, too. She understands the magnetism, and she understands she doesn’t possess even a fraction of that herself, but what she doesn’t understand is why Zelda can’t just…  care about her. Here was the biggest event of her life to date – she was  so happy - and she couldn’t even give her the tiniest bit of validation.

Hot tears wells up in her eyes and her lips bunch together before she huffs and throws her apron onto the floor, furiously stomping on it a bit for a good measure. She buries her face in her hands for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then wipes her hair from her face with her chin held high.

_Fuck_ her validation, she doesn’t need it. She has a fiancé who loves her and cares about her and is interested in hearing about all the things Zelda always found so useless and exhausting. She’s spent far too long giving miles to get inches in return and by Sat-… Lil-… oh bugger it, who cares, she just won’t bloody take it any longer! If she’s of such little use to the family and the coven, then she’ll go where she is useful.

She just needs to gather a few things first.

Marching over to her craft drawer, she rifles through the scraps of card stock and safety pins to locate her prized thimble. It was her grandmother’s and the one thing she always kept here, even when she traveled, because this was where she learned to use it... this was  home . She’s going to make a new home now, though, and she needs it to prove to herself she has the strength to follow through with it. She hears a sudden crash from upstairs and turns to look towards the noise, instinctively stepping towards the foyer, but she stops herself.

No . Her responsibility is to  _herself_ . To be happy. Dr. Cee...  _he_ makes her happy... he values her exactly as she is and doesn’t take her for granted unlike her selfish bitch of a sister!

She scoffs as the tears prick back to the surface and she rustles through the mess of supplies faster until she finally sees it. “Aha!” she says, reaching for it. She’ll fetch the rest of her essential belongings later, but for now... well, she’s as good as free.

She goes to slam the drawer shut, but as she does, her hand knocks a piece of paper back that reveals something else she forgot she’d hidden here.

Moving the paper completely, she picks it up. It’s a small box with satin ribbon tied over it, with the paper image of a sprawling tree adhered to the top – the Spellman family crest – fastened into a perfectly precious party favor.

No. Not a party. A wedding. Zelda’s wedding.

“Oh... “ she sighs, breath catching in her throat, and her face tensing in sorrow.

It had only been a mere three months since they’d been sat at the kitchen table, fastening ribbon after ribbon to each favor, Zelda brightly humming at every finished product she set aside. She had seemed... well, Hilda’s not sure she’d call it  _happy_ , but she’d seemed pleased and proud of herself...  _excited_ . It was rare to see her sister be so unrestrained in joy, as if she had given herself permission to for the first time since they were children.

“Blast it,” Hilda exhales sadly, because now she’s connecting the dots and though it would’ve been highly preferable for Zelda to have leapt in excitement at the news, it’s... she understands... it’s not fair.

It took her a long time to see she and Zelda were treated differently by their parents, that Zelda was held to (at times, unrealistically) higher standards by their them. 

****

She remembers Zelda rushing home once when she was about 11 or 12, beaming, her braided pigtails flopping about as she ran to the front steps of the Spellman house.

She had rather excitedly declared she had cast a spell far beyond the standard capabilities for a witch of her age. Hilda had been helping her mother separate snap peas while their father smoked a pipe off to the side and Edward had his nose buried in some important book.

Her mother barely acknowledged her. “Mmm, lovely darling,” she’d said idly, not even looking up from her apron of undone peas.

It had confused Hilda. That same morning she had shown their mother a painting - which was quite lovely if she said so herself - but it was no apprentice level  _spell_ . And yet mother had gasped in awe and showered her in praise and kisses over it while Zelda watched them silently, gently spooning her porridge into her mouth.

“A atronach spell, Zelly? Did you really?” Edward looked up at her curiously, impressed.

Before her sister could affirm it, excitedly nodding her head, their father interrupted gruffly. “Nonsense. A witch your age couldn’t possibly. I’ll not have you spinning tall tales for attention, young lady.”

“But I did!” her brows furrowed in frustration the same way they often did when Hilda had taken the last biscuit, or broken her favorite color of crayon, or got all the love and affection from her parents that Zelda desired so very much.

“Mind your mouth!” he snapped his rolled up newspaper against the porch bannister warningly and all three Spellman children flinched.

“Mother, could I show you?” she’d asked pleadingly. “Wasn’t Aunt Francine a conjurer? Maybe I inherited her talents!”

Her mother gave a warm half-smile and opened her mouth to speak, but then looked questioningly at their father, before turning back somberly. “That’s enough silliness for now, Zelda. Go wash up and then come to the kitchen to help with supper.”

Her sister looked nothing shy of devastated and took a tentative step towards the door, but then Edward muttered “ _I’d_ like to have seen it,” and Zelda froze.

“What’s the matter with you, girl? You heard your mother!” her father said firmly.

Hilda had watched Zelda’s fists bunch at her sides, could feel the anger and tension and hurt. If she’d had the sharpness of mind at the time to foresee it, she would have stopped her sister before Zelda turned around, threw her hands up towards the sky, and bellowed out an incantation that summoned forth a perfect apparition of a storm atronach. The wind picked up around them and the Spellmans scurried in various modes of surprise, irritation, and awe, all while Zelda smiled triumphantly. The atronach growled so deeply that the trees around them shook and Zelda looked positively euphoric in pride.

It was short-lived, though. Their father vanished the figure with a snap and then immediately grabbed Zelda by the shoulder, gripping her arm tight while he screamed at her for using magic in public, for Satan knew how many mortals were passing by, and did she want them all burned at the stake?

Zelda cried and defended herself and Edward, her ever-diplomatic and cunning older brother, tried to appeal to reason (“I did a dancing fire spell out front just last week, dad”), but it was no use. The damage had been done.

They had all been subject to the sting of the switch before, but Zelda somehow managed to see it the most often.

That night, after bedtime, Hilda saw her sitting on the tree swing their Uncle Johan built for them in the front yard. She quietly approached her, watched her hug her arms to herself, and heard her faint sniffling.

“Zelly?” she’d said softly and as expected, she faced her with hardness and indignation, ready to tell her off or worse for catching her in such a state.

“I brought biscuits,” she offered weakly and Zelda slightly softened, wiping her eyes. “Your favorite ones.”

“Won’t mother notice?” she said sadly.

“I’ll tell her it was me if she does,” Hilda answered.

“Because she won’t mind if it was you... “ Zelda trailed off under her breath, and Hilda’s face fell slightly, but she slid from the swing to sit atop the cloth Hilda laid on the ground for them.

They snacked in silence for a while, staring up at the night sky and enjoying the sounds of nature.

Finally, when Hilda noticed the angry red mark on Zelda’s palm, she spoke. “How many lashes did you get?”

Her sister just stared at her blankly.

“I mean... I got 10 last time when I broke the green vase... how many did father make you count before he stopped?” she said, trying to sympathize.

Zelda brought the half-eaten biscuit from her lips and let it lay limp in her hand. She looked focused at the ground, “He never has me count.”

Hilda blinked, confused, shaking her head slightly incomprehensibly.

“He just hits me until he’s done,” she turned to Hilda then. “When I broke the white vase the week before you, I thought I must have been there for hours. Hours, Hildie.”

Zelda had begun to silently cry and the unexpected and overwhelming turn of the conversation made Hilda join in, tentatively reaching an arm around her sister until their heads rested into each other’s. Zelda sobbed, the biscuit she’d been holding smashed to crumbs, and let Hilda soothe her.

“He _hates_ me. Why does he hate me?” she finally said desperately.

“Father doesn’t hate you,” Hilda hastily replied.

“Not father,” Zelda said with a finality that took Hilda by surprise. “The Dark Lord. I must not be pleasing him enough... I pray so hard... I practice so hard and... it’s never right, it’s never enough,” she was in hysterics now and all Hilda could do was rock her and hum the calming lullaby their gran had taught her years ago.

****

Hilda’s fighting back tears as she stands at the bottom of the stairs now. Of course, she would be hurt by Hilda’s announcement when her own wedding had been so disastrous. After spending years of being the most devout witch to a fault, of wanting a marriage and a partnership and to build her own family - like all other things her life, the best the Dark Lord could send her was an egomaniacal, murderous bastard of a husband when she deserved... _her sister_ deserved better.

And no matter how old they got, Zelda’s lashes kept coming, having trained herself to stop counting long ago, but Hilda knew it didn’t stop the pain of it.

“I understand, Zelds,” she called up the stairs quietly, knowing no one could hear her, but wanting the sentiment spoken aloud all the same. “I won’t leave you. You’re not alone, sister. I’ll be here - we all will, my love,” she wipes a tear from her face with a smile, “But first, I need to finish making some biscuits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. *slow exhale* Yeah. Heavy. Heavy shit. Um. It hurt me, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first non-smut fic, so please be kind. lol Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
